


The Never Ending Search for Something Real

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-23
Updated: 2010-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I spend most of my nights outside, looking for ways to make you smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Never Ending Search for Something Real

** [The Laughter Stopped You From Crying](http://pleasefindthis.blogspot.com/2010/02/laughter-stopped-you-from-crying.html) **   
_If you can pretend as hard as I'm pretending, this can be the first time we've ever met. Not the last._

“Come here often,” you joke, sliding into the booth.

Across from the table, she looks up and smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

So you keep going: “What’s good?” The tips of your fingers fumble with the edge of the laminated menu and she’s sitting across from you, shredding a napkin into pieces. “Come on,” you whisper, reaching over the salt shaker, putting your hand over hers.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers back.

Your fingers clench against hers. “Yes you can.”

“How are  _you_  doing this?”

You shrug your shoulders and smile humorlessly. You’ve been strong for so long – or pretended to when you really weren’t – that it comes naturally now; that swallowing your feelings is something you can do without even thinking about it. “It’s better than trying to fight it.”

“So you’re just going to ignore it?”

“It’s college. I’m not dying, you’re not dying. We’re just going to college and-”

“We’re going to forget,” she says so quietly that your own heart in your throat almost drowns her words out.

“Not if you  _try_ ,” you insist, even if you know she’s right; she’s always been right about the two of you, even when you didn’t want her to be. “Brittany, you just have to-”

“I will.” You don’t believe her; she’ll think she’s doing you some big favor, giving you up so you can chase your dream, even if your dream has always been her. “It won’t work, though.”

She’s probably right, but it doesn’t stop you from trying to smile and hold onto this moment as long as possible, if only because you might not have any more after this one is over.

So you order a coffee for the both of you and you split a piece of pie and you smile.

** [The Walking Away](http://pleasefindthis.blogspot.com/2008/10/walking-away.html) **   
_There are days when I want to walk up to you and scream in your face “No one gets you like I do, now let’s get the hell out of here.”_

Brittany cradles the phone to her ear with one hand and paints her toenail with the other, even if Coach said no toe polish; she’s a freshman now and she can do what she wants.

“Puck tried to ask me out again,” Santana is complaining. “He’s such a Neanderthal.”

She hums and swears under her breath when she misses her nail and paints the edge of her skin. “He’s cute,” she says, because she’s Santana’s best friend, and she’s supposed to say certain things.

Santana sighs. “In that washed-out, Lima loser way.” There’s a loud thud on the other side of the line and Santana is yelling at her little brother that the bathroom is occupied and then Brittany can practically hear her smiling. “I’m not going to say yes.”

When they hang up, Brittany dances around her living room with one foot painted and she’s so excited, she forgets to paint the other foot.

“Matt Rutherford is cute, right?” Santana’s voice is distant, like she’s on speakerphone and Brittany stays quiet – because she  _hates_  speakerphone – until Santana picks the phone up.

She carefully applies bright red nail polish to her left hand. She’s a sophomore now and Coach lets her bend the rules.

“He’s not bad,” she says nonchalantly. “He’s not the worst.”

Santana laughs. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She blows on her nails. “But, I mean, there are better people.”

“Not in Lima,” Santana counters.

“Of course there are,” she argues. “Like me.”

Santana snorts into the phone and then laughs hard and loud. “Well you’re much hotter than Matt,” Santana says. “And I bet you’re a better kisser.”

 _And I bet I could love you more_ , Brittany doesn’t say.

Instead, she lets Santana laugh and she starts to rub away the polish on her hand.

** [The Hidden](http://pleasefindthis.blogspot.com/2007/08/hidden.html) **   
_You blocked me out and turned away, hiding yourself from me. But I found you again. You weren’t hiding. You were protecting me from you. I don’t need to be protected._

When Brittany figures out what’s going on, she’s angry about it.

More than angry, she’s  _furious_.

She rings the doorbell over and over again until the door swings open and Santana’s little brother stares at her before pointing at the stairs. She takes them two at a time and doesn’t bother knocking on Santana’s door; just pushes it open so hard it slams against the wall behind it.

Santana’s head snaps up and Brittany’s anger fades instantly and she almost falters, because Santana’s nose is raw and her eyes are red and she looks so sad Brittany just wants to hug her instead of yell at her.

She reminds herself why she’s here and frowns again. “You’re an idiot.”

Santana sniffles. “I know.”

“I can’t believe you,” Brittany continues, ignoring Santana. She has a speech and she wants to at least get halfway through it. “You’re an idiot and you’re stupid and I can’t believe you would do this to us.”

“I did it  _for_  us,” Santana argues weakly.

Brittany rolls her eyes. “Look how well that worked. I can’t focus during practice or during Glee and you sneak off to the bathroom during class to cry. You were really doing us a favor, Santana.”

“But-”

“But  _nothing_ ,” she says. “You were wrong.”

“I wanted to protect you-”

“You hurt me.”

Santana nods her head shakily. “I’m sorry.”

The fight leaves Brittany and she rolls her eyes, dropping to the bed next to Santana, sighing when Santana’s body sags into hers. “You better be,” she murmurs softly. “Next time you want to protect me try talking to me first, okay?”

Santana nods against her shoulder.

“Because I was kind of miserable without you,” she whispers.

“Me too,” Santana says wearily.

Brittany laughs a little and hugs Santana tighter. “I noticed.”

** [The Alcoholics Are Only Romantic In The Movies](http://pleasefindthis.blogspot.com/2009/04/blog-post.html) **   
_If I die from this, you can’t expect me to act surprised._

If there’s one thing Santana Lopez knows, it’s that Brittany will be the death of her.

If she walks away from this life with only one thing locked away in the back of her mind, it’s that Brittany – a blond, bubbly, happy-go-lucky  _cheerleader_  – has managed to bring her to her knees.

If she lives the rest of her life only aware of one thing, it’s that Brittany is the only person who can make her feel this way.

At first it’s nothing; they’re best friends, after all, and there’s a level of closeness expected between them.

One day, Brittany smiles and Santana’s life comes crashing down around her; she becomes an addict and that smile is her poison of choice.

She wants it; she needs it; she  _craves_  it.

Brittany is oblivious, skipping down hallways and hugging the Yeti during Glee and spinning Santana around in circles while they dance, her fingers skimming along the empty space between her top and her skirt and she smiles brightly against the dreary Lima days.

Santana will do anything to see that smile, or feel Brittany against her body; anything to hear that laugh, or kiss Brittany until she can’t feel her heart because it’s moving so fast.

Brittany is killing her slowly, with her smile, and the thing that digs the proverbial knife a little deeper is that Brittany doesn’t even know what she’s doing; and if she does – which Santana is sure she doesn’t – then she seems fine doing it all the same.

Brittany smiles and that knife in her heart – the fist wrapped around her heart – cuts a little deeper – squeezes a little tighter.

Brittany is killing her slowly and all she can do is prepare for the final blow, the kill shot.

She hopes Brittany knows what she’s doing.

** [The Never Ending Search For Something Real](http://pleasefindthis.blogspot.com/2008/10/never-ending-search-for-something-real.html) **   
_I spend most of my nights outside, looking for ways to make you smile._

Santana doesn’t smile as much as she could.

It’s something Brittany has always known, because she spends most of her time with Santana and she’s good at picking up the little things, like: Santana doesn’t smile as much as she could, but she always smiles whenever she’s around Brittany.

So Brittany works hard it because out of all the things she likes looking at – rainbows, sunsets, the puppies in the window of the pet store – Santana’s smile is one of her favorite things and  _everyone_ , even Quinn, thinks it’s a pretty smile, so it’s obvious that it’s Brittany’s job to make sure everyone sees it as much as they can.

Santana’s body fits against hers, pushed together tightly in Brittany’s single bed, and Santana’s slow, even breath tickles the small hairs on the back of her neck.

Brittany should be sleeping – it’s late, or early, she guesses – but her mind is racing and she can’t seem to turn it off.

“Santana,” she whispers softly. The brunette doesn’t answer her, so Brittany rolls over and shimmies down until she’s nose to nose with Santana; so close that she could kiss her without moving her head.

She kisses Santana because she can and because whenever she does, Santana smiles a little wider and a little brighter and that’s part of Brittany’s job.

A few kisses later, Santana’s hands are clutching her waist and her eyes are fluttering open, a lazy smile pressing against Brittany’s mouth.

“I was sleeping,” Santana whispers, like she’s bothered that Brittany woke her up.

“I know,” Brittany says against Santana’s growing smile. “I needed to tell you something.”

Santana pulls back a little. “What?”

“I love you,” Brittany says quietly.

Santana doesn’t smile as much as she could, but Brittany makes her smile as much as she can.


End file.
